Final Stand
by freebird1307
Summary: Scarlett's load has become too heavy to bear. The story of the feather that broke the camel's back.
1. Too Late

A country or power has two parts: the nation, and the people.

The nation is the force. The respect deemed by the name. The skill of their army, the size of their navy. But every nation is made up of people. People with stories and hearts. People with families and opportunities and hopes and dreams.

In the Civil war, the nations were the North and the South.

The North as the nation was the good guy- the one fighting for freedom and equality. But as a people, they didn't believe in the ideas they proclaimed so fervently. They knew little about slavery, and disapproved of negroes when it came down to it. What little _Uncle Tom's Cabin_ had proclaimed to them was all they knew, and not even that could rally them to true support.

The South as a nation was the dark side. They were the rebellious criminals, the force that had to be stopped. But as a people, they weren't inherently evil. Neither the slaves nor the whites knew any other way. They had set their stakes in slavery, but by this time period the feeling was mutual- they had been raised to this. They hadn't made the choice to start it- they had been pawns the the greater power.

As nations in the war, the North was the predominate force. They took land, imprisoned their enemies, etcetera. But as a people, the soldiers were unwillingly let out to fight by families that didn't want this cause. The causalities hurt twice as much, seeing as they lacked even the belief that it was worth it that the South retained.

The South as a nation was putting up a fight. Their plantations being overrun, their homes ransacked. But as a people, real families struggled for food. Real towns fought to rebuild. real stories of love and hate erupted.

Scarlett had lost everything to the war. Her parents had died. Her home, Tara, stripped down to a bare flame to its former glory. Her false love realized for what is was. Her closest two confidants, her love and friend, seen as who they were to her too late.

She felt the cool barrel press against her temple. Before this, even when her home was destroyed, her family killed, she had never thought it would come to this. But she had been carrying a huge burden with her for too long- Gerald, Ellen, Melanie, Ashley, Bonnie, Tara, Atlanta, Beau, Charles, Wade, Ella, Frank. And now Rhett- Rhett was the feather that broke the camel's back.

She was in his room, dressed in his once-favorite dress of hers. Maybe because she was inwardly faithful to her old self that craved the dramatic edge- but more so because she had too long suppressed his memory. She wanted to remember. Needed to remember.

She felt hollow. Like he had taken her emotions with her when he left. She was supposed to feel apprehensive- sad- distraught. But she just felt empty. She knew what she was doing. This was no overreaction to a loss. This had been coming for a long time- why prolong it further? She had nothing to lose.

She closed the emerald eyes that had captivated so many. She remembered all of her sins with a stunning clarity- but now was not the time for regrets. Soon, she would never have to feel regrets again.

In her lifetime she had many times come back to the thought of a God- either in anger of guilt. But now, when the answer to that question was so near, she found that she hadn't even the emotion for that.

She felt her finger against the cool metal of the trigger, but remained calm. Maybe this had driven her to insanity. She didn't know. She didn't care.

The door burst open right before the pulled the trigger. Rhett, her love she had let slip through her fingers.

But like Romeo and Juliet, Anna and Vronsky, he was too late.


	2. Repercussions

**So here it is! Sorry it took so long. I had so many different ideas for this, it took a long time to decide which to use. Then this one came and I got it onto paper a few minutes ago.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Gone with the Wind, I wouldn't be writing a fan fiction for Gone with the Wind.**

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The pond's surface was more like flawless glass than water- a work of art, labored over by an artist. Much like Atlanta these days. After tragedy, and after being taken over, it was finally coming to terms with itself. The delicate balance between Northerner and Southerner had been established. The unspoken creed of loyalty and penalty had been made evident. The understood rules had been refined and enforced.

Rhett Butler smiled hollowly as his fingers traced over the object in his hand. Seemingly harmless, one like it had cost him the world.

He tossed it into the pond, watching the water ripple and move as he did. A different bullet had had the same effect on the waters of Atlanta. When it had buried itself in the head of Scarlett Butler, it had overtipped the delicate balance Atlanta had created.

Forces had been divided. Some Southerners, whom had come to know Scarlett through Melanie, felt grief. After being forced together for so long, the loss had an unprecedented effect on them.

Others felt pure, malicious joy. The loss of a Scalawag, as hard as they had tried to change their ways, was nothing to be regretted.

Northerners felt the loss as well. The malice of the Atlantans to them had been harsh- she had been one of the few who welcomed them at all.

Atlanta would inevitably work itself out, back into the impasse they had tricked themselves into thinking as peace- but his own mind had not only ripples, but waves. Destructive, harsh, violent, waves. Already had it been upset by his decision to leave, still did the pangs of the loss of his daughter hurt. But now, the madness was deafening.

He glanced back at the pond- the ripples were fading now. Unmistakably present, but fading. It would only take months for Atlanta to work itself out to this stage, and little longer than that for her death to be forgotten in all but the granite her name was etched into, and her bones lying in the ground. But his would only grow. Every second that passed would be a pang of regret- for leaving her, for everything. Not a day would pass when he was forced to try and forget with liquor, and not a night would pass when even it couldn't help.

He had come here to end it all. For his bullet to make the same ripples as hers had. To take a gamble with fate, risking hell for the chance to have her.

He smiled hollowly once more as he saw the glitter of the bullet in the pond. The water's ripples would be the only repercussions he made tonight. And as sure as he would drink, as sure as it wouldn't help, he would come here every night until the pond was a sea of bullets never fired, until he himself faded away.

Because although a gamble with death was something he would welcome, the risk of losing her was too great.


End file.
